


Liminal, Cyclical, Inevitable

by leiascully



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-17
Updated: 2007-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was, at least, a comfort in the certainty of routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liminal, Cyclical, Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: N/A  
> A/N: Thanks to [**queenzulu**](http://queenzulu.livejournal.com/) for the beta work and to [**roga**](http://roga.livejournal.com/) for the "Christmas in July" inspiration. Happy Smut Tuesday!  
> Disclaimer: _House M.D._ and all related characters are the property of Shore Z, Bad Hat Harry, and Fox. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

"Snow all over the Eastern Seaboard," chattered the clock radio, fizzing in and out of static. "Jersey _crackle_ near-blizzard conditions." A lean arm reached over Cuddy and slapped it into silence.

"I have to go to work," she argued with the wrist draped over her chin. "So do you." She thought about nipping at the bone of his wrist. He really had beautiful carpals, the knob of pisiform and triquetrum nudging against her lips.

"Hmph," muttered House behind her, his stubble-grizzled jaw scraping at the nape of her neck. "Blizzard. Snowbound 'least until lunch."

"You are such a bastard," she said, and he tightened his arm around her, pulling her hard against him. He hissed a bit as he lifted his thigh over hers, locking her down.

"Live a little, Cuddy."

The heat of his body made her drowsy. Her thighs were sore as she stretched her legs, trying to make her toes touch his. It was a good sore: it reminded her of the endorphin rush of fucking House. She was half-asleep now, half-dreaming, her quads tensing a little as she flashed back to the night before, rocking over him, the explosion of heat in her bed, the January chill lingering in the corners like a jealous lover. The light from the bedside lamp had caught in the frost crystals on the windowpanes, the same glitter as House's eyes as he shivered under her, his hips jolting against hers as she panted on his chest. Her muscles caught and clutched, remembering.

His skin was sticky against hers, his breathing regular as a lullaby in three-four time. She sighed and nestled in, tugging the comforter over his arm that was snugged under her bare breasts. His ribs notched into her vertebrae, an odd grating with each out-of-sync breath they took. If he came over again, he'd grumble about his thigh, he'd kick the covers everywhere, she'd wake up in the middle of the night startled by the friction of his hairy calves and want to kick him out. If he didn't come over, she'd lose him to Wilson again, that buddy-buddy bond she didn't yearn for, and she and House would go back to their five-year cycle of nemesis to lover.

There was, at least, a comfort in the certainty of routine.

His knee jammed just wrong against the back of her calf and the hair on his forearm tickled maddeningly against her nipple, but outside the snow was coming down and House sleeping was warm and quiet. She'd worry about waking up when she woke, or when House woke complaining and used all the hot water in her shower and snapped when she refused to let him take the motorcycle on unplowed roads.

For now they were warm, the two of them, and the snow packed in around the house in silent banks.


End file.
